


Farm Girls and a City Boy

by rixie_rhee



Series: In the Mood [3]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst, F/M, Falling In Love, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 08:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10532775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rixie_rhee/pseuds/rixie_rhee
Summary: There’s a dim light shining behind her curtains. Nix bends to pick up a handful of pebbles and he lobs them upwards one by one. They hit the glass with tiny pings that seem much louder than they can be. He throws maybe three before Rissa appears in her window, leans out and she’s beautifully disheveled. Her hair is coming loose and her lipstick’s almost worn off; she’s still in her dress, but she must have been asleep. One side of her face is pink and creased. But she grins at him and beckons him up, not asking why he’s outside at three in the morning.Nix climbs onto the railing; he has to pull himself up onto the roof that overhangs the porch. He feels drunk even though he isn’t, not even a little.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece to "Swingin' on a Star," just from a different perspective.

The girl is a French farm-girl in the English countryside. She likes beer and apparently, she likes Lew, too, because she looks up at him through her eyelashes and runs a finger up his arm. When she slips her hand into the crook of his elbow, her fingers never stop moving. And will he walk home with her? She’s afraid alone in the dark. It’s not so far, and there’s no one home tonight. She needs someone to make sure she gets there safely.

She’s got tiny nipples, coffee with cream, and pretty, upturned breasts, and what’s between her legs is very red and swollen and very hot. But she kisses him like she’s kissed a million boys and it’s practiced, not artless.

There was also the English girl in the English countryside, with milky skin and honey blonde hair. She was soft and pliant and Lew was drunk, but not drunk enough. She was too pliant, too docile with no edge to her. A very nice girl, very sweet, and enthusiastic, too. But when she came, it wasn’t his name that was on her lips. She didn’t call him anyone else’s name, she didn’t call him anything at all.

And now, in bed with the French girl, after he’s kissed her breasts and down her belly, he finds he doesn’t want to taste her, he doesn’t even want to kiss her mouth anymore. Oh, he wants what he wants, no doubt about _that_ , but it’s not the same thing. It’s a physical urge and this is a pocket of time, not connected to anything else.

And still, when he’s over her and his cock is in her, she looks up at him through her lashes and he’s irritated. It’s a put-on. Rissy does it, too, and sometimes it is a put-on and sometimes it isn’t. When it isn’t, she’s got entire fucking galaxies of stars in her eyes and when it is a put-on, those damn stars are still there, but you can tell she knows it’s a put-on and she knows you do, too. She’ll kiss him with abandon and her mouth is hard and soft at the same time, and she’ll play and tease and then be very tender and indulgent. She doesn’t care if he’s filthy, or what his damn name is, or about his bank balance. Even though she’s seen the sides of him that Dick is the only other person to see, for some crazy reason, she likes him anyway. She wouldn’t change one damn thing about him.  That’s the heady thing, that someone would want you, everything about you, even the pieces you don’t like, even the pieces they don’t particularly like either.

That’s when Nix realizes he’s making love to one woman while he’s fucking a different one. It’s also the last time he fucks someone who isn’t Rissy. ‘Cause she’ll do that too, she’ll make love with him or fuck him or somehow manage to do both at once, his mercurial girl. And she is his girl. It’s not that he doesn’t think about other women, or that he isn’t tempted, and to be perfectly honest, he comes damn close on more than one occasion, but that’s much later, and he’s only human and flawed. In the end, nothing happens anyway. And the thing is, Rissa understands that, too. She doesn’t like it, but she does understand.

Later that night, Nix scrubs himself in the shower. He wants to take Rissa on a picnic, he wants to take her dancing, he wants to take her out and kiss her in front of God and everyone. Actually, he wants to see her right this very minute, but it’s too late for that and he’ll just have to wait. Only he can’t so he gets dressed again and leaves furtively and quietly and walks through the velvety night air until he’s under her window.

There’s a dim light shining behind her curtains. Nix bends to pick up a handful of pebbles and he lobs them upwards one by one. They hit the glass with tiny pings that seem much louder than they can be. He throws maybe three before Rissa appears in her window, leans out and she’s beautifully disheveled. Her hair is coming loose and her lipstick’s almost worn off; she’s still in her dress, but she must have been asleep. One side of her face is pink and creased. But she grins at him and beckons him up, not asking why he’s outside at three in the morning.

Nix climbs onto the railing; he has to pull himself up onto the roof that overhangs the porch. He feels drunk even though he isn’t, not even a little. It’s like being a kid again. And when he climbs through her window, the room is empty but for her, Lise is nowhere to be seen. One of the twin beds is mussed and the pillow is balled up, the other one is pristine. There’s a book on the floor and it’s the lamp by Rissa’s bed that’s on, she must have fallen asleep reading.

It’s all he has time to notice, because her arms are around his neck and she’s kissing him entirely recklessly, because Lew can hear Mr. Miller snoring from somewhere down the hall. He feels a stab of guilt, and that’s something he never felt before, at least not where his wife was concerned, and strangely, it’s because he was kissing another girl two hours ago, not because he fucked one. Fucking is a biological imperative, kissing just feels good.

But Rissa’s still kissing him and his hands are full of her, her hair and her bottom. He doesn’t want to let go, he’s afraid he’ll never hold her again if he does, afraid she’ll see it in his face before he can even try to tell her to explain. She tugs at his arm, “Here, come and lie down on me. I’m tired, I was sleeping.”

Her low bed groans under their combined weight and Lew starts out companionably beside her, but Rissa pulls at him again. “I really did mean _on_ me. I want to feel you. You know, so I know you’re really here and I’m not just dreaming.” She sits up and pulls at his jacket, and at his tie, and then his shirt. She’s careful, setting his clothes aside, not strictly neatly, but neatly enough that they won’t be too rumpled.

When she’s on her back again, she reaches for him with both arms and the entire Milky Way is in her eyes and her voice is rich amber whiskey, something to warm you from within, when she murmurs at him. “Come here, c’mere, c’mere, Lew. I want you.” The thing is she does, she wants _him_ , every part of him and who he is, the good things and the bad shit too, because it’s all part of him and he thinks--hopes wildly--that she might just possibly love him. It’s too damn bad that he only realized that he loves her when he was fucking someone else.

Lew gets on top of her like she asked and fits himself between her thighs, but he stays up on his elbows when she tries to bring him down further. Guilt again, this is an echo of his earlier position, when he was in the dark and inside another girl. “Rissy, sweetheart, I have to tell you--” He swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs. “Earlier tonight, I--”

Her finger comes across his lips. “Shh, Lew. S’okay. You’re here now. You’re with me now and you haven’t promised me anything. You’re here now and I want you to kiss me.” And he does, he kisses her and touches her, his hands at her ribs and then her breasts. He can feel her nipples and the heat between her legs when they lock around his waist and she rubs herself against him.

“Rissy, will you do something for me? Don’t go kissing anyone else.” Hear what I’m trying to tell you. Hear what it is that I’m not saying, because I can’t say it yet, but it’s the truest thing I’ve ever said or not said in my life. Just understand, okay, please? That I’m telling you it’s just you, it’s going to be just you from here on out. And dear God, I hope I haven’t cocked this up, because it looks like maybe by some miracle, maybe I haven’t.

Her brow furrows. “I don’t, though, Lew.”

“You do. I’ve seen you.” It’s perverse, how he argues against himself sometimes.

“Oh, that.” She heaves a sigh. “I do that. But I don’t kiss them like this,” and her soft, full lips find his and do nothing more than press there warmly. “Or like this,” and she licks his bottom lip and nips at it until he smiles. “Or like this,” and her tongue is in his mouth and their kissing is artless and messy and perfect. When she pulls back her face is flushed but her eyes are serious. “Not even if they’re dying, Lew? Not even if they’re dying and they think I’m someone else? Not even if they’re seeing their mothers or wives or sweethearts? It’s a kindness, it’s not that kind of kissing. I could be in such trouble, but I have to do it. That could be you. It could be you, but if you don’t want me to, I won’t.”

“I think you might be perfect.”

“No, I’m not. Not even a little.” She grins up at him and her dimples come out among the freckles you can only see if you’re very close. “You’re perfect.”

He scoffs at that and shakes his head. Rissy tries to yank him down but she can’t so she lifts herself up instead. “Kiss me, Lew, just kiss me and kiss me and then kiss me some more.” She talks to him in between kisses and then between her little sounds when his mouth moves to her throat. She murmurs that he is perfect, close enough to suit her. He lets her be silly, he lets her play. He makes her feel safe enough to do that, and she knows, she _knows_ , that he would, that he will, protect her from anything he possibly can.

“But, honey, what I did--.”

“Shh, Lew. I don’t want to hear and it doesn’t matter.” Her small girl’s hands slip into his undershirt and play along his ribs. She slides them up firmly enough so that it doesn’t tickle, drawing the cotton up with her hands until he sits up to pull it over his head. She sits then, too, cross-legged and solemn. “I think maybe I just knew some things before you did, and maybe, whatever you did, maybe you realized that you know, too.” Nix wonders what she thinks he did, if she realizes he was in another girl’s bed while she was asleep with her book.

He opens his mouth as if to speak, but Rissa shakes her head. “Don’t, okay? No apologies, no promises. We’re not going to talk about it.” Her dress is pink and soft from being washed so many times, printed with tiny blue flowers and trailing leaves. And more importantly, she’s unbuttoning it, putting it aside, and then her slip, and her bra, too, so she’s only in her underpants.

Her breasts are soft and full like her lips are. It’s warm inside her room, and she’s kneeling there, flushed, watching him look. Her nipples are pink and swollen and she arches her back and reaches for his belt. Her hands are gentle and calm, deliberate. She helps him off with his clothes until he’s only in his underwear too, and it’s then that she takes his hands and brings them to her breasts. “Touch me. When you finally go to bed, I want to be the last girl that you touched.” She did figure it out then, she’s not going to make him say it. No, instead she’ll make herself naked and vulnerable in front of him and spare him any indignity. She has no sense of self-preservation where he’s concerned, and this makes him want to take care of her.

Nix touches her as she asked. His fingers are gentle on her nipples at first, then he pinches her because he knows she likes that. Eventually her soft little moans become whines and she asks him to kiss her better. He puts butterfly kisses there before he wraps his lips around them. When his tongue flutters against her skin, she sighs and cradles his head. If there are teeth in his suckling, she doesn’t complain, only holds him to her chest tighter until she’s trembling.

He’s so hard it very nearly hurts when she reaches into his shorts. One of her hands then both of them wrap around him, she gives him long firm strokes and passes over the head of his cock. One of Nix’s hands slips into her panties and she’s warm and ready and so wet when his fingers slide in. His fingers are inside her and his thumb moves through the folds until he grazes her small bundle of nerves. He circles and presses and she strokes until they’re both lost in what they’re doing and what’s being done to them.

“Feels good, Lew. Feels so good when you do that.” He loves her little whispers. “Please, please, please don’t stop. Keep touching me just like that.” Her poor tender nipple is still in his mouth, both her hands are on his cock, and he nips at her on that already sore nipple and his other hand moves from her hip and between her legs and he touches her the way he might touch himself, only on a smaller scale. And when Rissy comes, when he gives her what is almost a pinch and he feels her contract around his fingers, it’s his name that she whispers hoarsely. That liquid L and the fricative S are drawn out in her muffled cry. It’s his name that she whispers when she kisses him when it’s over, and her hands are still on him and his fingers are still inside her.

“Rissy, honey, let me make love to you. I want to be inside you, I want to--”

“We can’t. The bed creaks.”

He pulls back and looks at her. It’s unfair he knows, obviously, he has no right at all to expect that she hasn’t slept with anyone except him, but he didn’t think she had. But she only laughs. “I only know that because I’ve jumped on it.” Jesus, the girl dreams of him and she jumps on the bed. He laughs and shakes his head, he’s just as indulgent with her as she is with him.

“What about the floor then?”

“I think the Millers are about to sacrifice a rug to the cause.” Lew gets up, unceremoniously strips off his boxers and he’s about to lie down but Rissa stops him. She kisses his cock and cups his balls, laps and sucks until he can’t stand it. Her legs are wide open; there’s a damp spot on her panties, and her, oh, her he wants to taste, he wants to bury his face in her lap, but he hasn’t done that to her yet, and he wants to have enough time, and right now he wants to be inside her too much.

Finally, he does lie down, and he watches her stand and pull her panties down. She does it slowly, her legs spread standing over him. He reaches up to touch, and she’s so soft here, too. Fingers dip inside and he brings them to his mouth, and it’s good. And there’s no more time to think because she’s lowering herself down onto him, guiding him in, and then she starts to move. Her breasts are in his face and he sucks at the one that doesn’t have a small purple bruise, but his fingers do play with it, only lightly. Her eyes are shut when she asks him to put his hand between her legs and they’re both trying so hard to stay quiet so they don’t get caught like a couple of kids.

After her orgasm, when she can hardly hold herself up, he moves her onto her knees, her ass up in the air and her back arched and he thrusts into her hard and clutches at her hips. Her whole body moves with the force of his thrusting and when he feels her clenching around him, trying to hold him in, it’s too fucking much. Lew bites off a groan and Rissa sighs and then shushes him frantically while he spurts into her.

When they’re finished, she lowers herself onto the poor, sacrificed rug, lying there, and Nix covers her with his body protectively. She feels so small under him, she’s all soft angles and curves; he wonders how there can possibly be enough room for all her internal organs. There’s down on her back, the kind that’s so pale and fine that you can only see it in exactly the right light. She stretches and turns to look at him, her skin plays over her ribs, one eye appears over her shoulder.

He reaches for her book, which has fallen on its side above her head. “What were you reading?” It’s only idle curiosity on his part, but she blushes beat red. It’s adorable. Rissy tries to grab it back from him, but she honestly never had a chance. He’s both stronger and quicker, and besides, he needs to know what’s got her so flustered.

He opens it and snorts. “Hmm, no-one watches what you read, do they? Shameless girl.” His eyebrows are nearly lost in his hair.

“It’s just a love story, Lewis.” She can’t look at him, her cheeks are flushed bright pink.

“It’s smut, Rissy.” She smacks his arm then, she’s embarrassed but she’s playing, too. There’s a nearly silent struggle between them, naked sparring on the floor in which he tries to restrain her arms and legs while she tries her damndest to pinch him or smack him or kick him. There’s no intention behind it, though. It’s playing for playing’s sake, and it ends with one of his legs thrown over both of hers and her arms pinned over her head and both of them in stifled, helpless giggles.

She grins up at him broadly, finally still except for her hitching breaths. Oh, he loves her. The kiss he puts on her mouth is tender and sweet, the way you’d kiss a girl on her parents’ back porch after you’d walked her home for the first time. Nix never had a chance either.

It’s only afterwards that they climb back into the bed. Rissa sets the little alarm clock and turns to Lew. “I wish you could stay. I don’t want you to leave.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Don’t then. No one will be up for at least another few hours.” She pauses, the lamp lights up the hairs at the nape of her neck. “We could be really bad. You could just stay here with me, climb out the window in the morning, and come around like you just got here. I could make you breakfast.”

Nix’s heart squeezes in his chest. He can see her making eggs in her nightgown (not that she’s be in the Miller’s kitchen in her nightgown, but it’s his fantasy, dammit), see her putting the coffee on, and he knows she’d put the plate in front of him and kiss the top of his head. She’d do it almost absently, too, and her fingers would slip under his collar. As appealing as it is, he can’t stay.

“Can’t. Have to get back pretty early.”

“Just stay here with me as long as you can, then.” She reaches to turn the lamp off and when she lies down she pulls him down, too. Rissy fits herself around him. “Lay here with me, Lew. Talk to me.” She yawns, she’s tired and warm and content, and Nix is, too. There’s not a reason in the world to move.

They whisper back and forth about everything and nothing, lying twined together in a twin bed, until the sky just begins to lighten. The stars are gone, the sun is about to rise. Lew is back in his shorts and undershirt, Rissy is still naked, naked and beautiful, Lew thinks.

Nix remembers his wedding night, the whiskey and champagne, and Kathy in her own nightgown, some silky, slinky thing that clung to her nicely. How the lights were off, but the curtains were open. He’d been no virgin then either, and neither was she, but your wedding night is your wedding night and they’d fallen into bed together and had a good time doing it. It’s supposed to be the beginning of something, and it was in a way, but not anything like the kind of beginning that last night had been. No candles, music, or flowers, they weren’t even in a goddamn bed, and yet it was more of a beginning than anything else had ever been. A little like jumping out into thin air, maybe.

Lew and Rissy watch the sun rise.

He presses the bruised nipple. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be. I’m not. It’ll make me think of you.” He presses it again and then gives it a gentle pinch. Rissy moves his hand away, but only to bring it to her lap and hold his one hand in both of hers. He’s struck by the urge to put his mouth on her again, to show her what that feels like, he wants to kiss and lap and suck at her. Instead, Nix just sits next to her cross-legged on the bed with his hand in cradled in hers and they’re bathed in the golden light of the sunrise.

When the sky is blue again, he’s dressed and she’s in a nightgown, very modest, with her little bare toes peeking out. Their kisses are sweet and sleepy, and go on long enough that they only stop when they hear the house starting to stir.

Nix climbs back out the window and down the porch roof, and he does it quickly lest anyone see. But he does turn back to see, well, not his Juliet, maybe his Rosalind or his Hermia if we're going to be Shakespearean, at the window, and she is watching him. Parting is such sweet sorrow and all that; he’ll see her again soon enough, but not soon enough at that.


End file.
